Out of the Closet
by Angeliz
Summary: Rosalie is ambushed on her way down the hall. Based on a joke-suggestion from friends. Crackfickery, expect nothing serious. Oneshot, Rosalie x Victoria, kinda sorta. XD


Author note: This. Is. Crackfic!

…

Tanya's house is such a bore with everyone out hunting.

It's my own fault, I know, and I totally should have gone with them, but there was just something… I don't know. I guess something just told me to stay. Premonition? Maybe. Whatever it was, I'm starting to become just a little bit annoyed with it. I've never been all that suited to boredom.

I take a second to examine my reflection in the convenient surface of a glass cabinet, running long fingers through the golden waves of my hair. Boring. I've had my hair styled like this for too long, really. Perhaps a little experimentation is in order. Just to take my mind off of things.

I'm already brainstorming as I head down the hallway, visions of my own lovely face framed by shimmering locks at the forefront of my attention. Maybe I could shift the part to one side, do some braiding for a gentle wave…

I'm so absorbed that I don't even notice the second presence until a hand lands upon my shoulder, trailing streaks of dirt along my blouse, and pulls me into the closet. The door shuts behind us with an efficient click.

…

Very oddly, it takes me a moment to place the face.

She's changed her hair, tried to tame it somewhat—though with what, I cannot even begin to imagine—but at least the leaves and twigs are gone. Her pale skin is similarly clear, with the exception of her dust-streaked hands and muddied feet. The clothes smell new, if hideously out of date. I shudder at the eighties revival—those were bad times for fashion. Skeptically, I meet her blood-red gaze with one golden eyebrow held high above my sparkling amber eyes, honestly thrown by her strange new appearance.

"Were you dressed by a squirrel today, Victoria?"

She grins, tossing a wild wave of scarlet over her shoulder. "I've been waiting for you to drop by, Rosalie. It's so nice to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same." Now that the shock has worn off, I am beginning to remember all of the many reasons why I should be yelling for the others to come and help me thoroughly annihilate the vampire before me. And really, there should be nothing stopping me from stepping out of this closet to do so. So…why haven't I? Good question.

"What do you want, anyway?" I ask her, trying to puzzle out my own strange inaction. She only smiles in response, reaching out to play dusty fingers through my hair, and I cringe at the action. "I just washed that."

"You can always wash it again," she offers, as though this makes everything okay. I roll my eyes, groping behind me for the doorknob, trying to place some distance between myself and those grimy fingers. Just, ew. Seriously.

Victoria watches my efforts with scarlet amusement, though she at least has the courtesy to fold her hands in front of her, away from me. "That door sticks," she says calmly.

"So what?"

She shrugs, simply watching me once more. It's getting seriously annoying, too, so I ignore my last few shreds of common sense and turn my back on her, wrestling with the doorknob in earnest. It's completely ridiculous, but even with my incredible strength, the damned thing refuses to budge. I straighten with a frustrated toss of my hair. "Really?"

Victoria is grinning behind me; I can feel it.

"I'll buy Tanya a new door, then," I say, clipped and cold. My shoulder crunches into the wood.

It doesn't budge.

"What the…what, does she make her doors out of cast iron?"

"No," Victoria says with a silent told-you-so. "Just wood."

I snarl quietly and she shrugs, closing her mouth once more. I make another attempt at the door. It gives a few strangely unsatisfying splintering noises, but otherwise continues to ignore me. My eyes narrow.

"What did you do to the door?"

By the time I whirl to face her again, she has arranged her face into a picture of innocence, eyebrows raised high in question. "Me? Now, when would I have had the chance to tamper with this door, Rosalie?"

It's another good question. Until this morning, the house has been crowded with my own family as well as the Denali clan, each of us fully capable of hearing anything that might have been done to this closet. Fully capable of hearing any stray vampire that might have just happened into the house. How did she get in here, anyway? And how long has she been waiting? I'm beginning to become frustrated.

"Listen, Victoria," I say stiffly, really, truly trying not to beat the crap out of her, "I didn't want to have to threaten you. But if you do not let me out of this closet in the next two seconds, I'm going to absolutely murder you."

"I can't do that," she says, head tilted to one side.

"And why not?"

She smiles, a picture of innocence with burning scarlet eyes. "Because then how would we have sex?"

The expression on my face must be priceless, because her smile splits down the middle after a moment of staring, releasing a high, birdlike laugh into the stagnant air between us.

…

Even vampires have their limits.

I am beginning to learn this as we enter hour four of Sitting In The Closet With Victoria, or as I have taken to calling it, Rosalie's Own Personal Hell. With the single-minded idiocy characteristic to our kind, she has spent the entire day staring at me, all scarlet and mocking and bad eighties jacket. _Shoulder pads? Urgh. Why?_ I can't even begin to fathom it.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks abruptly, and I level a skeptical glare in her direction. Undeterred, she tilts her head to the side, watching me from yet another new angle. I grit my perfect teeth in frustration.

"I was thinking that your wardrobe is awful. The eighties? Really?"

She pouts at me. "You don't like it?"

"Not even a little," I say sincerely, trying to catch my reflection in the surface of the polished wooden door. I need something to look at that isn't completely horrifying, after all. What better than me? I notice the rustling, of course, but I'm a little busy trying not to look at Victoria to actually investigate the source of the sound. When I turn around again, though…

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?"

"You said you didn't like my clothes."

"Yeah," I say with a considerable amount of irritation bleeding into my voice, "but I didn't say to _take them off_."

Victoria now looks mildly exasperated, eying me with steadily decreasing patience. "Rose, how are we supposed to have sex if we're both wearing clothes? Come on, I know you're at least smarter than _that_."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask, momentarily sidetracked from the more important point. "And…and I'm not having sex with you! I'm married! And I thought you were in love with James, anyway!"

"James, old news," she says easily. "Rose, new news. See what I did there?"

I stamp my foot, just a little childishly. "Don't care. Not having sex with you."

"We're in a closet," she says petulantly. "We can't get out. There's no one here. What else are we going to do for the next few hours?"

"Not have sex."

She pouts again but doesn't argue, and after a few moments I begin to relax. Whatever has gotten into Victoria has hopefully begun to get out of her, and with any luck my family will return soon to bust us out of this blasted closet. Everything will be right with the world…

"Hey, Rosalie?"

I turn lazily, lifting one perfect eyebrow in question.

"I was just thinking…even for a vampire, you really are extraordinarily beautiful."

Despite myself, I brighten. How could I possibly deny something so obviously true?

…

Three hours later, and I'm still not entirely certain how this all went down. All I know is that I'm naked, and Victoria is naked, and we've beaten the closet within an inch of its life without managing to actually open the door. It defies the laws of physics.

"Nothing makes sense anymore," I whine, pulling her close so I can bury my face in her horribly styled hair.

"There, there," she says as she pats my head rhythmically. "It'll all be okay once we come out of the closet."

"Gah," I mumble into her shoulder. There isn't really much else I can do, after all.

I really hope Emmett is into this kind of thing.


End file.
